


Adaptation

by Hayato (TheLennyBunny)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers, Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Gen, youll pry this crossover from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLennyBunny/pseuds/Hayato
Summary: Eggsy's a little less human, and a little more Kingsman than the other candidates. It doesn't help, really.





	Adaptation

Belief was a hell of a thing.

Humans believed in all sorts of things- religion, war, countries, people, and all the other minutiae that kept them going. They’d believe in anything with all their heart, dedicate their life to it, right up until it killed them.

Eggsy had felt the death of Lee Unwin like a shotgun going off right near his ear. It had been very, very hard, to convince his mother he was alright when he started screaming out of nowhere. The neighbours’ complaining had helped. When Harry Hart showed up two days later, grief and guilt warring in his expression, Eggsy had known his name the moment he stepped in the door, knew why he was there, how it happened. Knew what the medal was for. It wasn’t hard, when you had less than a thousand subjects to your name at a time.

The agents of Kingsman were very dedicated, and it all had to funnel somewhere. Eggsy supposed he was just the one to foot the bill, this time. His father, bless his heart, likely would have been horrified to see him take up the mantel.

It wouldn’t matter, in the end, since he wasn’t going to get involved.

* * *

 

There were very few things that could kill their kind. Sacrifice, it turned out, was one of them. Lee Unwin’s body alone wouldn’t have shielded the others from the blast.

* * *

 

One thing he’d abuse to hell and back, was the  _ adaptation _ . He was home and hearth for people with dozens of backgrounds, ethnicities, skills, and with it came a wealth of perks.

For example, being able to fake a BBC-perfect accent like it was nothing, or letting a Scottish brogue roll off his tongue, or even pretending he was from Wales at one point. It made pickpocketing easier, and slipping into the crowd. It made shop owners think, well, this bloke ain’t a chav, he’s just some idiot berk who went and got his uniform roughed up to anger mummy and daddy, no need to keep a close eye. Making it second-skin to slip into whatever was flowing through his ear, letting posh flow most of the time.

For example, easily picking up skills and languages, because absorbing information and rolling with the punches was something at the heart of every agent. Picking up Turkish easily from the family down the hall, and Gaelic from the generous bartender, and passable French from school. Going into gymnastics, but also not hesitating to make sure he could work around a computer, and piddling through math when his impatience didn’t win out.

For example, not slitting Dean’s throat in the night the first time he hit Michelle, because he was the breadwinner. Figuring out the weak spots of the body. What was enough of what to poison, what was enough of what to knock you out. Figuring out how to keep a tight enough lock on his emotions that he didn’t endanger his mum, his mates, eventually his sister.

He mattered least, in the end.

* * *

 

Spotting the man in the pub was... startling. Fucking  _ weird _ , what was a bloke like him doing in a shit pub like this? Did their kind normally do this sort of shit, slum it with their own? Jamal was at his left, and Ryan was across from him, but the both of them faded into the background.

“Eggsy?” He waved off Jamal, hauling himself up. 

“Over there, ‘e’s an old family friend, didn’t know ‘e was in town. Y’don’ mind if I go off, do you?” The two, bless them, didn’t mind at all, and left him to it. He walked over. Was this proper conduct? Fuck if he knew.

“You’re Arthur Kirkland, yeah?” They’d quieted when he approached, and the bloke in the middle was watching him warily, which, understandable. He’d be cautious too if some rough brat came up to him with a chopped-up accent. “And, uh,” The fuck was his name? He knew this, they were linked at the least, “Connor Kirkland, I thin’? Don’ know yours though, bruv, sorry.” The last man just grinned in answer. 

“Yes.” Arthur drawled out slowly, and oh, he wasn’t posh at all, a Bristol accent rolling his words. “Can I ask who  _ you  _ are? And  _ how  _ you know us?” 

“Eggsy-  _ Gary _ Unwin, at your service,” He said, easily rolling into the accent himself, “And I thought it might be nice to introduce myself? Don’ exactly know the etiquette for this sort of situation, ’m afraid, dad didn’t think I’d get the torch when he passed.” That lit a spark behind the man’s eyes, and he leaned forward, squinting. Eggsy didn’t lean back, letting him into his space with what he considered remarkable restraint. The last person that close had gotten their teeth knocked.

“Which one are you, then? I don’t keep track of the societies that pop up, and I doubt I remember your father. Unwin, you said?”

Eggsy nodded, grinning. “Lee Unwin’s son. Kingsman’s since I was seven.” Connor snorted while Arthur shook his head, and the unnamed bloke managed to choke on beer and laugh at the same time.

“Wait, wait, you’ve got one of those over here? We call ours Statesman, but-” And oh, American, that crossed the rest of the United Kingdom off as possibilities.

“I forgot about them. Are they still going strong? Sit, sit down, boy, no point to you standing there.” 

So Eggsy settled in, and spent the next two hours relaxing and not having to pretend he was normal. He went back home with new numbers in his phone, and an assurance from Alfred- the American, America, whatever- that he’d connect him with others so he’d be a little less adrift.

He hadn’t said it in so many words, but the sentiment was there.

* * *

 

The rest of the UN was a fucking riot. Berwald, the bloke propped up as Sweden, kept sending him pics of his husband and the royals, as well as random smatterings of Swedish. It made for good entertainment when Eggsy was hiding from Dean. Kiku and Alfred, the nations his other branches were stationed in, kept him up to date with what they could glean. Apparently, the branches’ fronts were a bookstore and liquor store, respectively. Weird.

* * *

 

He tried to go into the Marines. It didn’t fix the ache, and he dropped out despite his scores and the pleas of his commanding officer. Michelle didn’t even need to beg, although she seemed near it whenever he called her. The fact she was pregnant, obviously so, when he came back, cemented his decision.

* * *

 

Eventually, it wasn’t his choice to use the medal. He had it around his neck still, after all these years, the ribbon long having been replaced with something more durable. The night he pulled it out, he’d been absolutely exhausted, not thinking straight, and maybe that’s why it happened.

He was very good at holding everything back. But at some point, there was a limit, a threshold, and reaching it made everything just...  _ implode _ .

Eggsy had come home from the pub, seething and wanting to tear into Rottie and the others, wanted to wreck their shit and their throats because the violence was always  _ just  _ there, because none of his people were actually goddamn stable and neither was he. He’d opened the door to see Dean holding Daisy, shaking her and yelling over her screaming.

He’d seen red.

Then there’d been red on the carpet, and then Michelle was screaming. He’d quickly shushed his baby sister, rocking her until she quieted, and sent Michelle a sharp look.

“Oh God, Eggsy, oh  _ God- _ ” she was hovering around Dean, who was now laid out on the floor. His head was looking up at Eggsy, bent as it was. He met the body’s eyes dispassionately.

“‘E deserved it. I know y’loved ‘im, mum, but ‘e deserved it.” 

“It’s a  _ body _ , Eggsy, you’ll go t’ jail, oh god, what are we goin’ t’ do-” And he’d sat her down, put Daisy in her arms so she was forced to stay calm. He pulled out his cell and typed out the number he’d memorised, laid on the posh just in case when it connected.

“ _ Customer complaints, how can I help you _ ?”

“My name’s Gary Unwin, son of Lee Unwin. Um,” He faltered, glancing down and wondering how the fuck to phrase this. “I- there was an accident, and it was all self-defense, but there’s a body, and it won’t exactly be seen that way, and we can’t- we don’t know what to do-” He cut himself off from his rambling. Contained, controlled. He was such shit at that, who was he kidding?

“ _ I’m s- _ ”

“Right, fuck, sorry, Oxfords not Brogues.” 

There was a pause, and Eggsy had a feeling it was just slightly irritated, before the woman continued. “ _ Your complaint has been duly noted, and we hope that we have not lost you as a loyal customer _ .” And with little fanfare, she hang up.

He’s left staring at his phone. Michelle’s shifting on the couch, more than a little agitated and confused.

“Eggsy, wha’ the fuck was that about?” He just shrugs. She’ll figure it out in an hour or two.

* * *

 

The cleanup crew is made up of very nice people. They’re all unfailingly polite, going about their business while still managing to ask how the three were doing, was little Daisy alright, there weren’t any injuries to look after, were there? Eggsy got Michelle to pass Daisy over to the one who had been designated as medical personnel. She’s in shock, he knows, and will likely be asking some very uncomfortable things soon that she isn’t allowed to know. He isn’t either, technically, but they can’t exactly hide from him. 

Eggsy takes Daisy out of Morgan Tud’s arms when the man is done checking her over, cooing at the baby. It’s at that point that Harry Hart walks in, going over the scene with a critical eye. He looks over to Eggsy, and that intent look turns to contemplation. Eggsy considers the recent shotgun echo he’d felt a day or so ago, signalling Lancelot’s departure from the living.

Well. If he’s doing this, he’s milking them for all they’re worth and getting something for his mum and Daisy. They owed the family that much, taking out the primary breadwinner with no reparations.

“An’ who are you?” He asks, because appearances are everything. Hart raises a brow.

“The man who’s cleaning up your mess. My name is Harry Hart.” Eggsy squints at him, acts the thinking skeptic, before ‘cluing in’.

“Right, I thin’ I recognise you- you’re the bloke who gave me this, yeah?” He thumbs the medal, where he’s still grasping it. He hasn’t let it go since he called, he belatedly realises. Hart nods, a small smile on his face. There’s a choked noise behind him, and Eggsy glances back to see Michelle, watching as they haul up the body on a stretcher, slowly taking it out of the flat. He can see the faint edge of bone from here, poking out from where he’d  _ forced _ it. Eggsy looks at Daisy in his arms. She’s quiet, used to being ‘round strange people. He sighs.

“Mum, why don’ you look after Daisy for a bit? I’ll be righ’ back.” Daisy goes gently into his mother’s arms, and she instinctively tightens them around her, looking down. He jerks his head at the door, going without a word. Hart gets the message.

“So wha’ do y’want in return for this? I know ‘ow this sorta thing plays out.” The older man’s watching with that contemplative look again.

“You owe me nothing, Gary. Your father saved my life, the day he died. He saw a mistake I missed, one that would have cost multiple lives. I owe it to him to at least look out for his family.” Eggsy snorted. It was bitter sound.

“Right mess you’ve made of that promise, bruv.”

“I can see that, now.” He nods once, regretful. Eggsy eyes the glasses that stay still on his face. There’s a link on them, stretching back to one of the hearts of Kingsman. Shit, is he recording? “Still, you seemed to have come out the other end no worse for wear. I’ve seen your record.”

“Yeah, great thing i’ is. Went from high scores across the board and gymnastic promise to slummin’ round the pubs and doin’ errands for the local kingpin. Couldn’ even stay in the Marines without running ba’ to check on mum.” He pauses. “Ain’t much a kingpin now, I s’pose. Wonder wha’ vacuum that’ll create.”

There’s a moment of silence, as Eggsy takes in the sheer ridiculity of the scene, and Harry thinks about whatever the fuck goes through his head.

“You’re a young man with  a great amount of potential, Gary.” Hart finally says, digging through his jacket for a small card. “If you’re up to the challenge, I’d like to present you with a unique opportunity. Meet me tomorrow at Kingsman Tailors on Savile Row, if you’d like to take it.”

Eggsy stares down at the card in his hands. Months and months of training, followed by years of secrecy and lying. 

“I prefer Eggsy.”

It was the closest he was going to get to peace.

* * *

 

He got dirty looks when they arrived late the next day, they both did, but Eggsy ignored them all with grace befitting a king. Wankers. Merlin gives a spiel, and  _ Galahad _ leaves, and eventually the recruits are left to their lonesome, free to mark their territory.

Eggsy stares at the body bag on his bunk contemplatively, before scribbling in Arthur’s contact information. He loved his mother, but had the good sense not to put her down. She’d not survive that sort of call, and Artie would know how to handle it. The blond girl in the group’s eyeing him, and she extends a hand when he turns to her.

“Roxanne. Call me Roxy.” Her smile is nice, and void of disgust. He instantly approves.

“Gary. But I prefer Eggsy.”

“Nice to meet you, Eggsy.” There’s a snort behind them, and Eggsy turns to see one of the other posh fucks, the one with the nose and neck scar, sneering at him.

“Eggy? Where did they dig you up?” 

“Prolly where your da picked up your mum. Was likely the only bird he could get, if his face is anythin’ like yours.” He smiles as the idiot gapes and turns back to his bag. Roxy’s making some motion behind him and going on about surveillance and being monitored, and his approval of her ratchets up just a bit more. Underhandedness always was a good thing to see this early on.

“You need a pen?” The other woman hands him one with a smile. She’s a plant, he can tell, right off the bat. There’s a strong bond in her, showing she’s already one of his. Amelia Braun, support member mostly assigned to mission reconnaissance and data retrieval. He wonders what they’re planning.

“Cheers.”

* * *

 

Drowning. Drowning is what they’re planning. Eggsy watches the other candidates, sans Amelia who’s playing at struggling and subsequently dying, swim to the loo. 

Who came up with the fucking idea to make a snorkel out of a fucking loo?

He checks the door, because he obviously has the most common sense here and doesn’t really need to worry about breathing for at least ten more minutes. It’s locked. Fucking Merlin.

But there’s that mirror. The really obvious one that was two-way and would likely break easily, with how badly it was supported. He makes his way towards it, and grabs Amelia for good measure. She plays a convincing dead weight.

It’s satisfying to slam into Merlin, for all that he barely reacts. The others are a bit confused.

“Congratulations on completing your first task.” The bald techie says, as though he wasn’t drenched head to toe, “Charlie, Roxy, well done on your quick thinking with the toilets. Get a hose round the U-bend, and you’ve an unlimited supply of air. However, as far as I am concerned, the only one to pass this test is Eggsy.” The indignant, cut-off exclamations are music to Eggsy’s ears. He pats Amelia on the back as she coughs up water. “Eggsy, could you perhaps enlighten us?”

“Teamwork.” He says simply. “Kind of worthless if our coworkers can’t depend on us.”

There’s a vindictive satisfaction as the others are forced to shuffle out to their new dorms, even if he has to do it too. Amelia’s gone, these idiots already have a mark against them, and there’s a strange contentment at having the approval of one of his people.

* * *

Harry gets himself bloody blown up. Eggsy can feel it echo, reverberating down his spine. It sours the fact he’s getting a puppy just a bit.

They’re all so  _ cute _ , though. But it’s the tiny pug, panting through its nose that makes him melt the most. The little thing is innocent as can be, licking his fingers when he gently picks it- him- up. Roxy chooses a poodle, he notices.

“Why a poodle?” She shrugs.

“Easy to train. Why a pug?” He contemplates saying that he was too fucking cute to resist. 

“It’s a type of bulldog, innit?” There are snickers from the other recruits, and Roxy sends him a pitying look. When they’re made to run and told they can’t hold the dogs, Eggsy looks at the track.

Looks at the newly-named JB, shivering and leaning against his leg.

He’s got pockets, fuck ‘em.

* * *

 

Later, he’s shown to Harry’s hospital room. He ends up spending the majority of his free time there. The rest of the candidates bar Roxy are all twats, and the less time around them, the better. It’s like being around utter  _ children _ .

It lets him get away with not studying, too. Honestly, some of the things they teach- he knew it by his teens. Subterfuge, try fooling everyone into thinking you’re upper crust. Slipping things on and off a target’s person, simple pickpocketing. Breaking into a building without setting off alarms? Fucking  _ child’s play _ .

He wonders how Daisy’s doing.

Harry makes for good company, for all that he’s unconscious and unresponsive. For shits and giggles, Eggsy plays the weirdest music while he reads to see if the man will eventually react. The time Merlin walks in and he’s playing Korean pop- while singing along- he only shrugs, lowering it as the man stares, unimpressed.

Sometimes he’ll set JB on his lap and’ll just ramble on about training, how Charlie was hounding him, how fucking amazing the Kingsman firearms were. 

A month into the man’s coma, he makes a mistake. He makes a series of mistakes.

He gets used to the man’s presence, sitting next to him, and the closeness of the tie between them. As with every other Kingsman, it’s strong, the belief of agency and duty tying him to the man. Eggsy doesn’t think when, for a moment, it strengthens just a bit, wavers like something’s happening- he just tugs back, because that’s what he does, reactionary idiot he is.

Harry Hart jolts back to the waking world to the dulcet tones of Queen with a snuffling pug on his lap. Eggsy stares at him and lets the Swedish primer in his lap slide to the ground. 

Many things happen within the next ten minutes. Harry asks where he is, utterly confused, and Merlin bursts in already lecturing, and vitals are checked, and at some point someone gives the man a straight razor and lets him go near his own face with it.

Eggsy’s still sitting in his chair, although he’s moved his books to the floor, and JB’s in his lap. Merlin’s squabbling about Harry’s encryption now, and the man’s pulling up his most recent files. It’s of the mission he last went on.

Whoever let him go on that mission was a goddamn idiot. He was too emotional, Eggsy notes, the target too personal. When the professor’s head explodes, Eggsy winces.

“Bit drastic, innit? Christ.” The two men look back to him, startled. They’d forgotten he was there, quiet as he was.

“The explosion was caused by an implant in his neck- here, under this scar.” The picture zooms in, and a familiar scar comes into clear view. “ The signal that triggered it, we were able to trace it. It lead back to, of all things, the Valentine Corporation. Not much of a lead, unfortunately.”

Eggsy has seen that scar. Eggsy knows that company.

“Well, we’re fucked then.” He remarks. Merlin sends him a sharp look.

“What do you mean by that, lad?”

His second mistake. It’s second nature to slip into something else when there’s an authority figure nearby, and an upset one at that. Most of the time, it helped him escape custody. 

“Well, I’ve seen that bloody scar around HQ multiple times.” Harry blinks at the smooth brogue. Merlin raises a brow. “It’s on that cunt Hesketh’s neck, saw it on my first day, and some other bloke’s- elderly fellow, missing most of his hair and carrying a few too many pounds round his stomach. And Valentine-” He takes Merlin’s tablet, pulling up news of the Corporation’s most recent announcement. It’s very suspicious, and the frame of the Asian bodyguard’s neck is damning.

“...Are you mocking me, lad?” The question’s low, and dangerous. Eggsy’s got no idea what he’s on about, and conveys as such with his expression. “The  _ accent _ , Unwin.”

“The wh- _ oh _ , oh, uh.” He coughs, trying to cut it out, because Jesus he didn’t need this, “Yeah, uh, shit, sorry, tha’- it 'appens, I don’ mean for it to- kept an ‘andle on it since I got ‘ere, but it’s 'ard.” They’re both incredulous. Eggsy sighs and slips into what he’s picked up from Harry. “It’s just something I learned how to do, alright? Nothing meant to mock. It’s not really the most important thing right now anyways, yeah?”

Merlin lets it go, because the blond man is right. Reviewing footage around the mansion reveals they have much, much larger problems than Eggsy’s party trick.

* * *

 

They keep it quiet, because internal corruption is a serious thing. Harry continues the investigation into the previous Lancelot’s death while Merlin combs through the agency, and Eggsy antagonises Charlie every chance he has. At one point, they get a hold of a SIM card, and the wonky additions to it send out all sorts of alarm bells in the mind.

_ Mind control technology _ ?  _ Genocide?  _ Fucking great! Fantastic! Amazing!

Eggsy channels his anger into shooting everything he’s allowed to and scaring the other recruits. They probably think he’s a roiding trash bag that shouldn’t be out of the estates, now, but they also don’t talk to him. Roxy’s taken to discussing meditation and coping techniques because she is unsubtle and doesn’t care about it.

The parachute exercise is a disaster. Eggsy almost doesn’t deploy his, certain he’s the dud, and it leads to more than a few bruises. It’s not like going splat would have  _ mattered _ , not for him, but that’s not something to let others know.

They close in during the NLP mission. The candidates are out of the headquarters, left to try and seduce a plant, while the purge goes down. If the drugs are just a little more potent in Charlie’s drink, no one’s going to know. The fact they get a neck chip out of it is great, too.

* * *

 

“So what’s gonna ‘appen now, what with the traitors purged?” Eggsy’s idly making martinis, and debating making a bloody mary. Or breaking out the whiskey. Across the bar, Harry sighs.

“There will need to be another round of Knight trials, and possibly a restructuring of how we actually pick candidates. Another incident like that with Mister Hesketh is not ideal.” Eggsy cocks his head, and slides a glass over to the man.

“Y’ mean where a traitor can pick another to join the ranks wifout anyone questionin’ it?” Harry’s brows shoot up.

“You know who nominated Charlie?”

“Well, it’s kinda obvious, he didn’ make an effort to ‘ide it with ‘ow ‘e went and talked to th’ guy every other week. Th’ idiot didn’ notice me goin’ the same way as ‘im whenever ‘e left.” Eggsy shrugs, and takes a sip of his own martini. Ugh. “‘S when I saw the older one in the firs’ place.”

Harry’s giving off  _ doubt-Arthur-worry _ but takes his word, and Eggsy spends the night comfortably with the older man. King’s betrayal is out of his mind, only an ache in his chest. He knows who’s going to be the next Arthur, anyways.

* * *

 

It doesn’t stop the trials. It doesn’t stop him from being completely  _ baffled  _ by his subjects.

Who shoots a dog? He raised that little shit for months, dragged him along through half his exercises, and dealt with him messing the bed for weeks. He loves that little fuck. Why would he  _ shoot  _ the innocent thing?

_ WHO THE FUCK CAME UP WITH THIS? _

...

The gun’s full of blanks anyway. He aims it at Harry and watches the man baulk as he pulls the trigger. The blank’s loud between the two.

“Try something else if you want me to follow through, Galahad.” He keeps his voice pleasant and cultured. “Innocents aren’t collateral, and loyalty shouldn’t override that.”

Harry looks so disappointed. He’s echoing it out like ripples. It rips his heart, just a little bit. Another bang in the other room sounds, and Eggsy glances over, smiling sadly. “Looks like Roxy’s goin’ to be the new Lancelot. Do I get any say in wha’ support department ‘m shunted off to?”

“You- how do you know about that?” Eggsy shrugs.

“Valuable soldiers, we all are. No point erasin’ the’ past few months when you can keep using us.”

It’s at that point where Merlin comes in, saying that Valentine’s finally given up something useful and they can continue the Trials after because he needs to send Harry to Kentucky. Eggsy wants to protest, wants to scream because  _ no _ they shouldn’t be sending  _ his  _ Arthur out on the fucking field when they just got over a goddamned mutiny.

“Isn’t tha’ a bit suspicious?” He says instead. “Tha’ e’s just saying it in th’ open, where anyone can ‘ear.”

Merlin says they can’t risk it. Eggsy folds. He’s handed off to the man as Harry leaves, telling Eggsy they’ll talk when he’s back. Eggsy sits by Merlin’s monitors and ignores the man in favor of fiddling with a tablet.

The next twelve hours are an act of patience. He interrogates Merlin about the support branches of Kingsman and how they conduct their recruitment, what each one contributes to the organisation, how large they are.

“Is there a reason you’re suddenly interested, lad?” Merlin asks around hour four. Eggsy shrugs from where he’s been slowly and not-so-effortlessly making his way into protected networks.

“I didn’ shoot JB.” That’s some grade-A blank confusion on Merlin’s face. Eggsy clarifies, “I could tell it was blanks, an’ I was pretty pissed at being tol’ to shoot my dog, so I aimed at ‘Arry instead.”

“Those guns were weighted.” 

“Well, not enough, obviously.”

* * *

 

Harry’s shot on the tarmac of a shitty American church, and the bullet misses his armored glasses by hairs. Merlin’s yelling and swearing, and Eggsy’s left staring at the screen. The glasses have not stopped recording. But there’s the threat of Valentine’s plan looming over them, less than twenty-four hours left, and Merlin can’t afford to grieve. 

The other agents aren’t close enough to deploy. He sends out Eggsy and Roxy. They’re left sitting on a plane, Eggsy in a suit that Harry commissioned for him against regulations, because he believed in the young man so much he couldn’t see him failing.

Gunshots are very precarious things. You may die instantly, or you may hang on by a thread until the inflammation or infection or swelling gets. Harry’s lying on the tarmac of a _shitty_ American church, but he’s there. He’s there, he’s therehe’ _ sthere _ and Eggsy

 

_ Pulls _

 

Redirects everything until the link is strong and his head is forcibly knit together and  _ he’s  _ left gasping, coughing up blood on the floor of the fucking jet and cursing as Merlin and Roxy panic around him. They’ve got no time for it, though, and Merlin sends them both out regardless.

* * *

 

He sends a message out on the network he finally reached, going out to every nation that agreed to join it in the event of a K-class event. All it reads is,  _ There’s nothing to be done. Throw away anything with Valentine tech and hide away from crowds and urban areas. Trust no officials. _

* * *

 

There’s a prosthetic knife-leg in his eye. His head is static, and there’s someone screaming in his ear, and so much p  _ ain _

Everything snaps back like a rubber band and he’s left blinking, watching Gazelle walk away and hearing Merlin swear and go watery in his ear. The right lens of his glasses is shit, and the frame’s barely holding together on that end.

He picks up a chair, absently snapping off one of its metal legs. It’s easy work sliding it through her stomach. Easier cutting off Valentine’s last hand and crushing his windpipe.

“Don’ turn your back on a body,” He croons. Merlin’s silent in his ear.

He doesn’t speak up until Roxy’s asking and begging, did they stop it in time? What’s happening? What happened to Eggsy?

“Valentine and his bodyguard were taken out. Well- well done, Eggsy. You too, Lancelot.” He’s reached the cell doors once more, and it’s quiet, nothing moving except for him. The blood’s tacky on the floor. He looks down at it, and wonders where the remorse is.

“Merlin, could you open these doors, please?”

“Eggsy, lad, why don’t... why don’t you come back to the plane, first? I’m sure the VIPs can wait for a moment longer.” The Scot’s voice is shaky. Eggsy smiles.

“No need for it, though, is there? It’d be easier to just get it over with now.” Merlin doesn’t really- reply, to that, only opens the doors. Eggsy muses on just how much his resurrection seems to have shaken the man. He’s pretty shaken too, likely in shock, although the adrenaline’s holding everything at bay for now.

There’s people peeking out now, and he can spot one, two, five familiar heads. It’s a tremendous relief.

“Arthur, Alfred! Over here!” The blonds dash over, and Eggsy lets Alfred smother him in his bulky arms. The other nations, Switzerland, Germany, and Egypt if he’s seeing right, stay at a distance with Arthur.

Eggsy lets himself enjoy it for a solitary moment before he pulls back, turning to the crowd that’s grown. There’s people of all nationalities, American and British and African and a shitton of others, and they’re all looking to him. It makes him queasy. He’s supposed to be as unseen as his people.

He guides them until they’re all to the hangar, leaving in clumps. He gets to shake the Queen’s hand. It’s surreal. Arthur and Alfred follow him back to the Kingsman jet after he says goodbye to Princess Tilde- “I don’t think Berwald would be a’right with that, sad to say. Nice meeting you though, yeah?”- and Merlin’s at the door, brow creased and worrying.

“Eggsy-” The blond holds up a hand. Smiles. 

“Let’s pick up Rox and Harry before we do this. I need to go have a panic attack.” 

Then he vomits and blacks out.

* * *

 

When he comes to, he’s been laid out on one of the seats. There’s quiet murmuring near his head.

“Mnnr?” The murmuring stops, and suddenly there’s a lined-but-handsome face leaning over his own, creased in worry.

“Dear boy, are you alright? Follow my finger.” He does. Everything’s fuzzy, and his mouth tastes like death.

Oh god. Not a good choice of words.

Someone pulls him upright, and once the dizziness has passed Eggsy looks up to see agents and nations alike watching him. Arthur’s seated next to Harry with Alfred at his side, and Roxy’s off to his left.

“Oh good, we’re all here,” He tries to say, but it comes out as a dry hacking. Someone passes him a glass of water. He’s thankful.

“So, Eggsy,” Merlin pipes up from the cockpit doorway, scaring the shit out of him, “Care to explain how you’re walking and talking after taking a blade to the head? Or maybe why two of your ‘relatives’ were being held by Valentine? Or how you knew Harry was alive?”

Shit. He looks to Alfred and Arthur for help. The American’s silent. Arthur just shakes his head. They both look as though they’ve been chewed up and spat out. There were a lot of casualties.

Right.

“Belief’s a hell of a thing...”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell with me on tumblr!  
> thelennystorm.tumblr.com


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